Taking Back the North
by Lyanna Pond
Summary: Set mid-season 5, this story chronicles the events of Sansa Stark, romance, battle, and the inevitable arrival of Winter.
1. A Wedding at Moat Cailin

**Hello readers! This is my first Game of Thrones story. My goal is to have it finished by the end of the summer. Please follow and review!**

On the night of her wedding, Sansa found herself looking once again at the broken tower. The first time she was here she had met Miranda, who opened her eyes to Ramsay's true cruelty by leading her to what remained of Theon. As she watched the sun set behind the tower, she thought back on the horrible misfortunes that had befallen her. As a child, she had always dreamed of marrying a handsome, kind noble man who would sweep her off her feet. Instead, she found herself betrothed to the cruelest of them all, Joffrey Baratheon. Then, although he had always been kind to her, she was forced to meet the Imp at the end of the aisle, where she became Sansa Lannister. From there, she fled King's Landing and took on the name "Alayne", dying her beautiful red hair a dark brown to conceal her nobility. And now she was to officially become Sansa Bolton.

Out of her many identities, Sansa had most enjoyed being Alayne. Although she was terrified at first, she had grown rather fond of Petyr Baelish. Too fond, in fact. The first time he kissed her in the gardens at the Eyre, Sansa felt something she never had for Joffrey or Tyrion. She wished she could feel such a way about Ramsay. He was relatively handsome, but she had learned from being Alayne that appearance does not necessarily determine emotional connection. Petyr was much too old for her, too short, and trimmed his facial hair in a highly unattractive fashion. Yet Sansa wanted nothing more than for Petyr to be here watching the sunset with her. A raven had arrived at Moat Cailin quite some time ago with the message that he had departed from King's Landing, but there had been no word of his whereabouts since. Sansa knew that she would not be able to make it through this night without him. As soon as her presence was masked by the blackness of the night, she made her way up the staircase of the broken tower. " _You still have friends in the North_ ," the old woman had said. Sansa took a deep breath, proceeded to the window, and lit a candle.

At the bottom of the stairs, her handmaiden was waiting for her. "Pardon me, my lady" she said, "but I figured I might find you here. I've seen you out here some times. I don't mean to disturb your peace, but they're waiting for you."

"Thank you," Sansa mumbled, and the girl began to fix her freshly-dyed hair as they made their way to the hall. Theon was waiting for her in surprisingly clean attire with his hair neatly trimmed. After one last look to make sure Sansa's gown was perfect, the handmaiden took her leave.

"Theon," Sansa began, "I just want you to know that I forgive you. You have suffered enough for your crime from Ramsay and you don't deserve that from me as well. You and I are in this together now."

Theon shuffled his feet a bit. "My name is Reek, my lady," he responded. "I live to serve Ramsay Bolton and now I shall serve you."

Sansa sighed and looked down at the carpet, realizing that she truly had no one here for her tonight. When the guards opened the doors, the wedding guests seated on the other side fell silent and she took Theon's arm. She looked up to see Ramsay at the end of the aisle, smiling that devilish grin that made her skin crawl. In that moment, she remembered a phrase Cersei Lannister had spoken often: " _When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die_." Sansa was not ready to die, so she did her duty as a woman and smiled back, taking slow, cautious steps toward the altar. Her false grin faded upon glimpse of Roose Bolton, the father of her soon-to-be husband, sitting with a beaming and pregnant Walda. A Bolton and a Frey at her wedding- the two houses that had betrayed her family, ironically, at a wedding. Roose stared deep into her eyes with a grim expression and she stared back, wondering if he thought about the slaughter of her mother when he saw her and the murder of Robb's unborn child when he looked at his wife. She began to question how one could be so heartless, but remembered countless others before him who had killed members of her family without guilt, including the man who currently walked beside her, his arm shaking more than hers.

The next several minutes were a monotone blur to Sansa. Some words were said, the vows were exchanged, she was cloaked with the flayed man of House Bolton, and a kiss was shared. It was a kiss that lasted much too long for her liking. She could taste that Ramsay was already filled with wine and lust. She closed her eyes and pretended it was Petyr. " _I lit the candle_ ," she thought to herself, " _What are they waiting for?_ "

The bride, groom, and wedding party then proceeded to the reception hall, where a great feast awaited them. A group of minstrels took turns playing songs as the guests laughed and ate. Sansa used to enjoy songs very much and wasn't a bad singer herself. Now, the music meant nothing to her. Just empty tunes with meaningless words that gave her false hope for her new life.

As she took small bites of pigeon pie, her husband consumed an unhealthy amount of chicken. His table manners gradually decreased with each glass of wine to the point where Sansa had to excuse herself. She chatted casually with the guests and was eventually approached by Roose. "Congratulations," he said. "I'm not sure if Ramsay's told you, but as soon as our army defeats Stannis at Winterfell, you will be able to return home with him."

"That is very kind of you," Sansa replied. "It is only fitting that the last living Stark return to Winterfell."

Roose narrowed his eyebrows at her jab. "Yes, I suppose," he responded sternly.

The room fell silent as Ramsay tapped his glass. "Wife!" he shouted. "Come here- I have some entertainment planned for you and our guests!"

Sansa obediently took her place at the head table and Ramsay clapped his hands. Theon made his way to the center of the floor, dressed as a fool. "Now, Reek," commanded Ramsay, "Dance for us! And minstrels, I have a special song request- the Rains of Castamere!"

All eyes were on Theon and the guests hooted with laughter. Sansa felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around, but there was no one there. When she looked back, she saw a lemon cake had been placed on the table in front of her…in the shape of a mockingbird. " _Petyr!_ " She genuinely smiled for the first time that evening and glanced around. The old woman who had told her to light the candle was standing by the door beckoning her with a finger. Sansa took a look back at her druken, distracted husband and nonchalantly made her way over to the woman, who led her through the doorway.

Sansa turned around to see two unconscious guards as the old woman shut the door behind them. The woman quickly covered Sansa's mouth with her hand to muffle her squeal of shock. "Follow me," she whispered.

They ran through the corridors, all filled with unconscious, possibly dead guards and watchmen. "Lord Baelish," Sansa started, out of breath. "Is he with you?"

"Yes," the woman panted, "but I cannot tell you much more. First we must get you to safety."

The old woman unbolted a wooden door and they descended a flight of stairs. An underground tunnel led to the hills beyond Moat Cailin, where Petyr Baelish awaited her. She flung herself into his arms and he rubbed her back. "Thank you," he said to the old woman.

"The North remembers," she replied with a nod and made her way back into the tunnel.

"I knew you'd come for me," Sansa exclaimed. "Oh how I hoped you wouldn't really make me stay with that monster!"

"Hush, sweetling," Petyr stated. "My original plan was indeed to forge this alliance with the Boltons, but events have changed in our favor."

"So the candle," Sansa continued, "It was you all along!"

Petyr drew back. "What candle?" he asked quizzically.

Sansa was confused. "The old woman- she said if I lit a candle at the top of the broken tower…"

"We must go now," Petyr interrupted. "We'll have plenty of time to talk later, but by now they will have realized you're missing. Besides, there is someone waiting to see you."

Her gown swaying in the frosty night breeze, Sansa followed him over the hill, where a surprise awaited her. She froze in her place and gasped. "Rickon- you're alive!"


	2. Reunion at the Inn

Sansa embraced her little brother, who was almost as tall as her by now. "I found him hiding out disguised as a servant boy at the Manderly's," Petyr explained. "Roose asked me to take a short detour on my way back to inform them of your wedding. Lord Wyman confided in me while I was in White Harbor that they had been sheltering him for the past couple years. He agreed that it would be cruel to marry you into the house that killed your family and revealed to me that you were not the last living Stark. Rickon, as you can see, is old enough and ready to take his rightful place as Lord of Winterfell."

"But…how?" Sansa exclaimed, letting everything sink in.

"We ran and Theon lost our trail," said a deep female voice. Sansa looked to her left and saw a dark-haired woman approach.

"Who are you?" Sansa demanded, tightening her grip on Rickon.

"Osha, my lady," she responded. "I was formerly a wildling and your brother took me into his care after you left for King's Landing some years ago. I took it upon myself to protect your brothers when Theon and the Ironmen invaded."

"So, Bran- he is alive, as well?" Sansa asked.

"Yes," Osha replied. "Theon killed two farmer's boys in their places. Bran is safe with Hodor, but he is north of the wall and I am unsure if he will ever return."

Sansa released Rickon and approached Osha, who was also clothed in servant's garments. "Why would you send my brother into the cold with your savage kind? He could be dead by now for all you know. What made you think that he would be safe there, accepted by the freefolk?"

"He is not with the people of my past," Osha clarified. "I do not have time to explain right now and I'm not entirely sure you would believe me if I did. But just know that the freefolk are not your true enemy. Word is that your bastard brother Jon is now Lord Commander of the wall and willingly invited them through the gates. Winter is coming and we must unite against our common enemy."

"What enemy?" Sansa inquired. "Do you mean Stannis?"

"Stannis is not the enemy, my darling," Petyr chimed in. "If Stannis can liberate Winterfell from the Boltons, it is likely that he will allow Rickon to take the seat."

"The Lannisters," Sansa continued, "What did they want from you?"

"Do not worry about Cersei," Petyr insisted. "Although she is suspicious, she knows nothing of my plans and my betrayal. Come now, we must ride. There are loyal guards and horses waiting above the hill. It is dangerous to remain here much longer."

Sansa, Osha, and Rickon followed Petyr's lead to their personal secret caravan. They began to head north and although concealed by darkness, they stayed off the main roads. When it was nearly dawn and her eyes had grown heavy, they stopped at an inn where Petyr paid the elderly owner a generous fare for beds, food, and confidentiality. "You must not inquire as to our identities, and you must not inform anyone who may stop by of our stay here," Petyr ordered, holding out a bag of coins. "Understood?"

"Indeed," the old man croaked, "but two guests currently occupy one of our rooms. Should I escort them out the back door?"

"That won't be necessary," Petyr assured him. "Thank you for your hospitality."

The guards tied up their horses while Petyr, Sansa, Rickon, and Osha made their way inside. The cook, a chubby boy, insisted that they have something to eat before they rest. The guests graciously accepted a hearty breakfast of eggs, bread, and bacon at a long wooden table.

When they were nearly finished with their meal, Sansa heard footsteps on the stairs behind them. She whirled around to see the two other guests, both of which were familiar faces, coming down for breakfast. "Petyr," she whispered, "turn around."

He glanced behind him and put on a fake grin. "Ah- Brienne of Tarth! How pleasant to see you again."

"I'd say the same to you, Littlefinger," said the large, intimidating woman, whose gaze immediately turned to Sansa. "Sansa, are you doing alright? Despite your harsh rejection of my offer, I've been waiting for you all the same to make sure that you are alive and well."

Sansa glared at her and then glanced at Podrick, the boy who had once squired for her former husband, Tyrion. She found herself wondering if Tyrion was still alive and if so, where he had gone. She looked back at Brienne with a cold stare. "I'm fine, thank you."

An awkward silence ensued which was broken by Petyr. "Well, Brienne, since we can't seem to be rid of you, I will allow you to accompany us on our journey north. We are bound for the wall, where Sansa's brother is Lord Commander and Stannis has an army ready to attack Winterfell."

"Stannis?!" Brienne yelled. "You can't take her to that beast! He killed his own brother. Sansa will not be safe with him."

"Then where would you suggest we go?" Petyr asked. "Do you have a better idea? Do you know of somewhere that is actually safe? If you do, please share."

Brienne fell silent while Podrick shifted back and forth awkwardly behind her. "Perhaps you feel she would be safer back in King's Landing," Petyr continued, "where you serve the Lannisters."

"I serve no one but the Starks," Brienne snapped. "I may be here on Jaime Lannister's orders, but I am loyal only to Lady Catelyn."

 _You still have friends in the North_. The old woman's words echoed through Sansa's mind. "Was it you who responded to the candlelight?" Sansa asked.

"Pardon?" Brienne replied with an expression of confusion. Sansa sensed Petyr narrowing his eyes at her, confused as well.

"Never mind," said Sansa. She may never find out who was meant to respond to that candle, but she could use all the friends she could get. "Brienne, Podrick- you are welcome to join us to the wall on the condition that you will prove your loyalty by fighting in the battle for Winterfell under King Stannis."

Petyr appeared pleased and proud of how she had played the game. Brienne's face twisted. "If this is your wish, my lady."

"It is," Sansa affirmed. "Now come, break your fast with us. Then we will need to rest for awhile before we continue our journey, so you and Podrick shall keep watch outside for any sign of the Boltons."

"Yes, of course," answered Brienne, taking a seat beside Osha and turning to her. "I don't believe we've met…"

"Osha," the wildling replied with a mouth full of bacon. She extended her hand. "And this is…"

"…Ricky," Petyr finished. "They are servants from Moat Cailin who I paid to aid in Sansa's escape. Ricky and Osha also have family at the wall." Sansa looked down and smirked at Petyr's ability to lie by telling half-truths. She admired him and the more time they spent together, the more comfortable Sansa became with lying herself.

Rickon appeared taken aback by the statement. "Yes, that's me, ma'am- Ricky, the servant boy." Brienne was noticeably skeptical, but brushed off her suspicions when the cook presented her with food. Sansa would have to share her knowledge of fibbing with her brother if he was to become a successful lord.

When they had all finished their meal, the inn owner led them upstairs and showed them to their rooms. Sansa could not remember the last time she had gone this long without sleep. As she was getting undressed, she heard a knock at her door. She opened it to reveal Petyr, who did a double take when he saw that she was in her underclothes. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he uttered.

"Don't worry." Sansa smiled. "I just had to get out of that terrible wedding gown. Perhaps you could ask the owner if I could borrow something of his wife's?"

"Yes, yes of course," Petyr replied. "May I come in?"

Sansa nodded and closed the door behind him. "I assume you're here to answer the questions you know I have but haven't asked," she stated bluntly.

"You know me too well," said Petyr, taking a seat on the bed. "Not many people do. I'm a dangerous man to know."

Sansa began firing her questions. "What did Cersei want from you? How did you plan my escape? What if Stannis does not welcome us with open arms? Why did you cover up Rickon's identity?"

"The past is the past and the future is the future," Petyr replied. Sansa hated when he was so mysterious. "I told you, things with the Lannisters are in order and I never reveal my plans. Should we need to escape again in the future, perhaps I'll let you assist with that one. And I figured that it would be best that we conceal the second-to-last living Stark until we know if we can really trust this Brienne of Tarth. Now, I have a question for you if you are satisfied with my answers."

Sansa nodded and sat beside him. "What is this candle you speak of?" Petyr asked.

"The old woman who led me through the tunnel told me that if I was ever in trouble to light a candle at the top of the broken tower," Sansa explained. "I did so right before my wedding."

Petyr appeared puzzled. "That was not my doing and if you don't know whose it is then you'd best be careful. The woman I entrusted with your safety approached me before I left for King's Landing and informed me that she used to work in Winterfell and to send her a raven if she could do anything to help you."

"I don't remember ever seeing her in Winterfell," said Sansa.

"Then this is most troubling," Petyr declared. "If whoever was intended to respond to that candle has seen it, then they are likely on our trail. They may be friend or they may be foe. Trust no one."

"Not even you, Lord Baelish?" Sansa asked, looking into his eyes. They were filled with so much- sleep deprivation, worry, mystery…and desire. Her heart began to race.

"How many times must I tell you to call me Petyr?" he asked.

"Many more times," she responded. "I must not get too close to you if you are as dangerous a man as you say you are." Petyr smiled.

Sansa was unsure if she was still playing the game or if this was becoming real, but in that moment she didn't care. She leaned in and kissed him.


	3. Unexpected Visitors

It was mid-afternoon when Sansa awoke to Petyr knocking on her door again. "Time to go," he declared in his usual serious tone accompanied by a wink which made Sansa blush. He presented her with one of the innkeeper's wife's dresses. It was brown, dull, and several sizes too large, but anything would be better than the gown that reminded her of Ramsay. When she had dressed, Sansa met the other members of their party downstairs, where the cook was presenting them with an early supper. She gladly accepted her portion and was immediately approached by Brienne.

"Lady Sansa," Brienne began, "did you sleep well? Are you in good health for this journey?"

"Yes, thank you," Sansa replied nonchalantly, slightly annoyed. She felt as though this beast of a woman was trying to take the place of her mother, which most certainly was not going to happen. Her mother was dead and Sansa was now a woman grown, no longer in need of someone to care for her. All the same, she smiled politely and looked down at her food, prompting Brienne to move aside. Glancing back up, she caught sight of Podrick, who quickly pretended to be deep in conversation with one of the guards. Sansa was tempted to ask if he had heard anything about Tyrion, but contained her curiosity for the moment. She tuned into a conversation between Petyr and the innkeeper instead.

"Any visitors today?" Petyr inquired.

"Three, my lord," the owner answered. "Two were easy to turn away. They saw all the horses outside and believed that all the beds were filled. The third insisted that he did not need a bed and just wanted a drink, so I had my wife bring some wine outside for him and he left without questions when he had finished.

"Good," Petyr responded. He pulled out another bag of coins and handed it to the innkeeper. "You have my greatest thanks. We shall take our leave in half an hour." The owner grinned broadly at his profit.

Sansa had nearly finished her meal when the room fell silent at a knocking on the main door. The visitor rapped again, more forcefully, after his first pleas were not answered. Petyr beckoned to Sansa, Rickon, and Osha to follow him quietly upstairs. Sansa's heart was racing and she peered through a crack in the wooden floor to watch the action below. The innkeeper took a deep breath and opened the door to reveal several knights carrying banners of the flayed man. "I'm sorry, good sirs, but I'm afraid all our beds are filled."

"Yes," interrupted the tallest knight, "I noticed many horses outside. We are not here to stay. We are searching for a girl- her hair may be red or dark and she may be wearing a wedding gown. Has she passed by here?"

"No, no one of that description staying here, friends," the innkeeper replied nervously.

"Really?" the knight continued. "Well perhaps you would not mind if we asked some of your other guests then?"

The owner cleared his throat. "No, of course not- come in."

Five knights entered and looked around. They first addressed Brienne and Podrick, who pretended to be enjoying a normal dinner. "You two are certainly an interesting traveling pair," a short knight commented. "What brings you here?"

"Ironically," Brienne answered, "we are searching for a girl exactly as you described."

Sansa held her breath and looked at Petyr, whose eyes depicted obvious concern.

"On whose orders?" the knight demanded.

"Her mother, Lady Catelyn," Brienne explained. "I was her sworn sword before her unfortunate passing and I promised to find her daughter and keep her safe."

"Well, my lady," said the knight, "she was recently delivered safe and sound to Moat Cailin and married to Ramsay Bolton. She fled on her wedding night and we have been sent to return her to her beloved." Sansa gagged.

"Wonderful!" Brienne exclaimed. "If I come across her, I now know where to bring her."

The knight appeared satisfied, but frowned when he looked around at the guards, who were casually drinking cups of ale. "You appear to be knights of the Vale. What brings you all this far North?"

A dark-haired man with a moustache spoke for the group. "Lord Baelish has granted the lot of us permission to pledge our allegiance as brothers of the Night's Watch."

"Is that so?" the taller Bolton knight questioned. "Why would so many men of your rank willingly take the black?"

After a brief pause, a stout bald man spoke. "Winter is coming," he said in a surprisingly deep voice. "We would like to serve in the true fight for Westeros."

"Whitewalkers, you speak of?" snapped another Bolton knight. His companions laughed. "Nothing but rumors, my friend. You waste your time."

The knights of the Vale fell silent. The tall Bolton knight turned to the innkeeper, who was leaning against the wall with crossed arms, staring at his tattered shoes. He had wisely abandoned his bag of coins in the kitchen. "Is there anyone else here?"

"No, Sir," the innkeeper replied. The knights turned to leave.

Sansa was just beginning to breathe a sigh of relief when Rickon shifted beside her. The floor creaked loudly and everyone fell silent again. The Bolton knights whirled back around.

"Don't mind that," the innkeeper stated. "We have a cat."

"A cat," the knight acknowledged with disbelief. "You know, there appear to be a few more horses outside than knights inside."

"Four of those are ours," the innkeeper stuttered.

"An innkeeper has no need for horses," a chubby Bolton knight reasoned.

"This is true," the tall one chimed in. "I'm sure you won't mind if we take a look around upstairs?" He turned once again to the innkeeper, who said nothing.

The knights of the Vale drew their swords, protecting the staircase. Brienne and Podrick stood, as well, ready for confrontation. The Bolton knights responded with equal force. They immediately charged at their opponents. Sansa heard the clangs of metal against metal and saw the innkeeper rush to find his wife. Petyr pulled her up. "Get ready to climb out a window if my men do not prevail. It isn't that far of a drop. You must not be afraid, but you cannot let them take you or even leave this place with the knowledge that you were here."

She continued to subtly observe the fight below. The stout knight almost reached the stairs, but was blocked by the wrath of Brienne. Over the course of several minutes, two knights of the Vale and four Bolton knights were struck down. When the remaining Bolton knight, the tall one who had done most of the talking, realized that he was on his own, he dropped his weapon and surrendered. In a surprising turn of events, the innkeeper smashed a pot on the back of his head and he collapsed forward.

Petyr led his valuable companions down the staircase to the aftermath of the scene. One of their knights was bleeding from his shoulder and the owner's wife came to his rescue with the small amount of medical supplies she possessed. Sansa did not look away from the bodies as she would have a couple years ago. She stared with lack of emotion, reminding herself that this was just a necessary part of the game.

Petyr approached the owner, who was holding his pot in a state of disbelief at his own courage. "We must take our leave- there may be more on their way," Petyr explained. "Bury or burn the bodies and free the horses that we do not take with us. There must be no trace of this."

"What about this one?" Brienne pointed out, kicking the unconscious tall knight. They all looked around at one another as if deliberating who would be the one to end his life. Embracing her wildling blood, Osha grabbed Podrick's sword, stepped forward, and stabbed it through his heart. Not a word was uttered.

As soon as the injured knight's arm was wrapped and the horses were saddled, Sansa placed a kiss on the innkeeper's cheek, cordially thanking him for his bravery. She mounted her horse and rode to the front of the party alongside Petyr and two of their remaining guards. They proceeded in silence, eager to reach a safer destination.


	4. Winterfell

After several days and nights, two more uneventful inn visits, and a snowstorm, the party finally arrived at Winterfell. Stannis Baratheon's army was camping outside in tents, either waiting for the proper moment to attack or be attacked. Fires were blazing even during the day to keep them warm. The southerners were not used to the cold and snow. This put them at a great disadvantage for a northern battle, but then again they had defeated the wildlings.

Sansa glanced up at what remained of her home. It appeared that the Boltons had begun to rebuild, but these temporary structures inside the walls were definitely not strong enough to withstand an attack.

As soon as they made their presence known, they were immediately approached by several soldiers carrying the Baratheon banner. "What is your purpose here, travelers?" asked the commanding soldier.

"We are bound for the Wall," Petyr explained. "We have some business to take care of there, but first we must speak with King Stannis."

"May I ask who wishes to speak with him?" said the soldier skeptically.

"Tell him that Petyr Baelish of King's Landing is here with some guests," responded Petyr. The soldier appeared taken aback at the mention of King's Landing, but delivered the message. The others remained behind to make sure that the party did not cause any trouble. The soldier soon returned with clearance for them to see the king.

The king's tent was not difficult to spot. It was much larger than the others and flying the Baratheon flag. Sansa and Rickon entered with Petyr, and Stannis turned to face them. He was much skinnier than his brother Robert with a more stern expression. He appeared to have been studying battle charts with a shorter, bearded man and a woman with long red hair. Sansa's eyes met those of the woman and she shuddered.

"Lord Baelish," Stannis began, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"I am bound for the Wall with two people of very great importance," replied Petyr. "I present Sansa and Rickon Stark, last surviving members of their great house."

Stannis appeared shocked. "That is impossible," he declared bluntly. "The Stark children are all dead."

"Sansa has been in hiding with me for several months and Rickon was taken in by the Manderly's," Petyr explained. "Arya was never found and it is confirmed that Bran is safe, as well. He is currently…elsewhere…and will not likely be coming back, though." The red-haired woman turned her eyes on Petyr at the mention of "elsewhere".

Stannis cleared his throat. "I see. What other surprises do you bring for me?"

"The Boltons are on their way here from Moat Cailin," said Petyr, "so you must prepare your men for an assault outside the walls. They are searching for Sansa, who was recently married to Roose's son Ramsay. She was able to escape with us before the marriage was consummated."

"This changes our strategy drastically, my King," said the other man. "We must devise a new plan immediately."

"No time for plans, Sir Davos," barked Stannis. "Go around the camp and inform the men of the Boltons' expected arrival. They must be prepared for an attack within the coming days."

Sir Davos exited the tent and Petyr continued. "I was hoping to take the children to the Wall. They will be safe and welcomed there, now that their brother is Lord Commander."

At last the intimidating woman spoke with a thick accent. "Nowhere is safe. Winter is coming, Lord Baelish."

Sansa shuddered again hearing the woman say the words of her house. Who was she anyway? She certainly did not look like she fit in on a battlefield.

"This is true," responded Petyr, "but they need a place to hide until King Stannis takes Winterfell and Rickon can claim his rightful place as Lord." Rickon fidgeted, either excited or nervous about this prospect.

Stannis considered the proposition. "Very well," he eventually replied. "How many others are in your party?"

"A civilized wildling woman who has been watching over Rickon, Brienne of Tarth and her squire Podrick, both formerly loyal to the Lannisters but can now be trusted, and several knights," Petyr answered.

"That is quite the eclectic group you've assembled, Lord Baelish," observed Stannis. "Your comrades shall receive tents and share our food for the night."

Sansa noticed the woman's eyes dart back and forth between her and Petyr. Sansa was concerned that she could read minds.

Petyr thanked the king and they were escorted to tents by Baratheon knights. Sansa watched as soldiers shivered and uncharacteristically huddled together for warmth as she passed by. The tent she was led to was small, but suitably insulated. Brienne had requested to stay with her, but Sansa respectfully declined, preferring the company of Rickon and Osha. They were presented with loafs of cold bread.

Sansa fell asleep to the singing of drunken soldiers outside around the fires and awoke not many hours later to shouting. She peered outside her tent and saw Stannis confronting a Bolton scout. He was being painfully held around the neck by the knight who had graciously welcomed them to the camp yesterday. "He just wants her!" the scout shouted. "That's all! He won't attack if you give her back to him! Please don't kill me."

Sansa pitied the boy a bit because he was no older than herself and had merely been following orders. She also found herself frightened and feeling guilty that all these men would soon be under attack because of her.

"You will return to Ramsay and inform him that Sansa Stark is now under my command and shall not be released to him or anyone associated with the Boltons," Stannis ordered. "Is that clear?"

The boy began to cry. "Please, no, he'll hurt me! He'll flay me alive if he finds out I'd been captured!"

"Then you shouldn't have gotten caught," replied Stannis harshly. "Release him."

The soldier kicked the boy, who fearfully bolted off into the distance. Stannis yelled louder to wake the rest of his hungover army. "Men- prepare for battle! And I want the Starks out of here immediately!"

Sansa shook Rickon and Osha awake and set out to find Petyr, who had been presented with some extra guards for their journey north. "Are you ready?" he asked her.

Sansa nodded, meeting his dark eyes. He pushed a strand of her hair, which felt like an icicle, out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. She longed to be somewhere safe and warm with him, but scolded herself for thinking such things. She mounted her horse and prepared for the final stage of their journey.


End file.
